


falling slow (in the pouring rain)

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha Ramsay Bolton, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate season 7, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage Schemes, Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Lyanna Mormont, BAMF Ramsay Bolton, Baelish has got a Big Storm Comin', Bittersweet Ending, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Marriage, Happy and Confident!Theon Greyjoy, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Off-screen major character deaths, Omega Podrick Payne, Petyr Baelish is a Sleeze, Podrick Payne is a Gift, Political Alliances, Post-Season/Series 06 AU, Psychotic Sadism vs Delusional Egomania, Ramsay Bolton has a crush on Lyanna Mormont, Ramsay Bolton vs Petyr Baelish, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Ramsay lives, Slow Burn, Wyman is a scheming schemer who schemes, in the sense that Pod knows Ramsay by reputation, in the sense that she gets away with murder cause he thinks she's amazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: What would have happened to the North, if Ramsay Bolton won the Battle of the Bastards, and there were no Starks left to save the day? Petyr Baelish's plan has gone down the drain, and he intends to make Ramsay pay. But are his formidable wits any match for the unpredictable, senseless violence that Ramsay commits daily?After winning the battle of Winterfell, Ramsay is irritated by the need to quickly replace his wife, recently deceased by her own hand. Winter is upon them, and the North cannot survive divided. He intends to marry a bannerman's daughter then coddle them, in an effort to fix his reputation. But when Petyr Baelish reveals a  jewel among the rubble - an omega among his prisoners - Ramsay takes it as an omen that his rule is blessed by the gods. Why else would they have dropped such a gem into his lap? Not all of the Northmen agree with his choice, and there are those who would do anything to secure Winterfell before winter confines them all to their own keeps...





	falling slow (in the pouring rain)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Rampod story outside the Redbolts universe! I'm literally so excited. That being said, I want to remind everyone right here from the start that this is NOT redeemable Ramsay Redbolt to begin with. Regular readers might be lulled by a false sense of security regarding Ramsay because they're used to that softer version, but not to worry, this version should hopefully win you over by the end too. But we're starting from a different place entirely. This is Ramsay Bolton as seen on S1-6 of GOT, who will be changed (very) gradually by his new marriage. 
> 
> I'm going entirely with show-verse on this one, so no Bastard's Boys, Mryanda exists as his dead ex, as does Theon etc. Character death tag refers to Rickon, Jon, Sansa and Arya who are dead before the story begins. This is what might have happened in the last 2 seasons if they were gone, from a Northern perspective. Forgive me if I might not cover all the plots from the show/books but I'm busy pretending GOT was cancelled after S6 so...
> 
> ~Tagging this as dub-con rather than non-con, as Pod does agree to marry Ramsay and agrees to sleep with him every time, but the circumstances are obviously shaky because Pod knows exactly what kind of man Ramsay is, so YMMV.~  
~A/B/O is a plot device so that Ramsay can pursue Pod. Yes it's a slow burn romance story, but I'm all about those medieval politics. So the A/B/O is not as heavily explored as it is in fics elsewhere, jsyk :D ~

{PROLOGUE}

Ramsay pressed his lips into a thin line, biting back the fury on his tongue. He was the undisputed Warden of the North with the death of his wife’s brothers on the field of battle. But his wife was dead by her own hand, and all of his father’s warnings sang in his ears like irritating ditties. The North would not easily bend without a Stark in Winterfell.

“My lord,” said Wolkan softly, “A raven came, from the Queen. A white raven. It seems that winter has at last begun in earnest.”

Ramsay flicked one dismissive hand, brooding deeply. The maester set down the missive, but did not leave. Ramsay quickly tucked it into a pocket to read later, in privacy. His thoughts were consumed with more important words than the whining Lannister bitch's need to know the outcome of the battle. He needed a new wife, one that would help him control the North. But the Starks were officially extinct. All that remained were the offshoots, but Harald Karstark had a sister didn’t he? If Ramsay recalled correctly, she was nothing much to look at, but that hardly mattered. Tacking a few extra letters onto their names didn’t dilute the truth; and Stark and Karstark were one blood. He intended to have Wolkan send a letter to Karhold, bidding the new Lady to visit Winterfell, but before he could get the words out, Wolkan spoke first.

“My lord, the men have valuable prisoners they want instruction on,” said the cowardly old maester.

Ramsay glared at him hatefully. Didn't the wizened crone see he was busy moping in anguish over the loss of his beloved wife?

“Can’t they just throw them into the cells and be done with it?” Ramsay moaned.

“My lord… the ransoms could pay for food. The stores are low, and rationing must begin immediately if we are to live out the winter-”

“Yes, yes,” Ramsay hissed, “Send them in before I expire from boredom.”

His eyes flew skyward in annoyance. It was harder than he had anticipated, to make decisions without advice from his father or the lickspittle lords like Karstark and Smalljon Umber, who had flocked to Winterfell when Roose took control. The North was crumbling from the inside out, and if Ramsay was not careful, half the remaining Houses would go extinct before spring. Father had counselled him on what a disaster that would assuredly be, though Ramsay wasn’t convinced at the time. What did if matter if all those worthless cunts died? But now was not the time to be rash in dealing out death and punishment. He couldn’t very well rule over the North if everyone in the North had decayed into a mountain of meat-stripped bones. No, whoever remained, Ramsay needed them, if only for the winter. And those that gave him grievance during the hard years of deprivation that were finally upon them, would assuredly feel the sting of his blades when spring came.

Yet Ramsay could not deny he needed their gold, their food, their men to till the fields before the snow covered them, and maintain the borders. And he couldn’t command them, if they hated him enough to plot his murder. Father had been right about Sansa all along. With the way Ramsay had treated her, he had inadvertently rallied half the North against him at the earliest available opportunity. He had over-estimated how much the North still cared for the memory of the Starks of yester-year. The North Remembers indeed, though it took them fucking long enough to give a damn about Sansa’s screams that he was lulled into believing his position was secure. Then Reek had run off with her, and she had come back with her bastard brother’s fucking wildling army.

Ramsay had barely survived the combined attack, and the battle had cost the entire North men they could not afford to lose. Hindsight was a sour medicine to swallow. Now he needed a new wife the North could rally around, and this time he had to get her to behave as though she loved him, in public at least. Which meant pretending to care about her welfare well enough to gain at least her co-operation. Ramsay wasn’t capable of loving anyone or anything, save perhaps Myranda and his bitches. And he had fed Myranda to his bitches after she died. The best he could offer now was protection and a life of privilege in a position of respect. He could play his games with anyone; his new wife had to survive long enough, without screaming the castle down, that his reputation was neatened, like an old jerkin with new laces.

But what Ramsay had done to Sansa was not exactly a secret, and he would have to confront the obstacles it had created. Any potential match; Alys Karstark or whatever other girl he could get his hand upon, their father and brothers would probably fight tooth and nail to prevent the match. Normally, Ramsay would skin anyone who showed such defiance. But as previously reasoned, that would be a very counter-productive measure at the present time. He needed the support of the other Northern Houses, no matter how begrudgingly. It would seem like a viable solution to simply marry a woman without family or prospects, who would feel as though she had no choice. But that was exactly as he had done with Sansa. And not even his father’s presence had prevented Ramsay from treating her to the whims of his natural inclination. There would be no one to even attempt to stop him now if he just snapped up the most comely desperate highborn girl.

If Ramsay could not maintain a promise to treat them better, his plan would never come to fruition. But that should be easy enough, now that he knew better. He could begin by claiming that Sansa had too much of the wolf blood, and needed to be tamed. That she was as hateful toward him as he toward her, due to his family’s part in dealing with her family of fools. He could tell the Lannister bitch what she wanted to hear; that he had put down a rebellion in the North because they were loyal to the traitorous Starks. But that would not hold water with the Northmen, who didn’t give a fuck whose arse got a regular stabbing from the Iron Throne. The North still wanted its freedom, that much was obvious, and if he went about calling the beloved Young Wolf a traitor to the Iron Throne, he’d wake up some day on one of his own crosses. No, Ramsay had to come up with a better plan than that.

Sansa hadn’t had a father or brothers watch over her welfare, to ensure Ramsay wouldn’t overstep. His new bride had to be different. He would have to get into her good graces with flattery and honeyed words. He would compliment on her breeding, praise and seduce her until she lowered her guard, and then he would invite some of her male relatives to live in Winterfell with them throughout winter. That way he had a reason to remember to satiate his urges elsewhere. It was a sound strategy, and Ramsay was busy complementing himself on this clever method of self-control when the prisoners were trouped into the great hall; dejected, miserable and fearful wretches.

They were all clad in irons, men, women and children. Only one glowered at him with open defiance. A tiny girl with more bravery than the hundreds of men Ramsay had broken with a mere look. She had a backbone of steel, and she stood with clenched fists and an insult dancing on her tongue just waiting to be flung at him

“It’s Lady Mormont, isn’t it? Lysa?”

“Lyanna,” she corrected brashly, “You dolt.”

Ramsay laughed, delighted by the challenge. It had been a very long time since any dared. Perhaps even no one since Reek, back before he was broken.

“Sweet girl, if you knew what I had done to the grown men who offered me less insult than you just have, you would not dare to speak to me thus. Mind your tongue-” he warned as he plucked his flaying knife from its sheath at his back, to show her the wickedly sharp blade, “Or should you like me to take this knife and shove it up your hairless cunt?”

Another Bear Island woman, this one full grown and a hulking brute dressed in full-plate armour besides, started forwards, rushing toward Ramsay as though she intended to attack him, but she was soon dragged back by the chains held by the guardsmen.

“Attempt that again, and I will enjoy divesting you of your tongue or hands,” said Ramsay conversationally to the large, ugly woman, “Winning this battle so easily has given me a thirst for greater bloodshed. Still, once you’ve felled a giant, there’s nothing really left is there? Nothing so thrilling, no direction but downwards. Unless of course the rumours of dragons in the East are true. Fucking dragons!”

Ramsay laughed, throwing back his head in glee, “I’d happily burn for the chance to fill one with scorpion bolts, like the Dornish did with that Targaryen who came flapping about, thinking she was some bloody Southron goddess. I forget the one, Rhaenra? Rhaenys? Some Queen with a stupid fucking name. I wonder if we have the spare iron to build a scorpion? Where’s that mousey maester? Never here at the damned moment you need him.”

He blinked at the disturbed prisoners and their equally uncomfortable guards, and let out another gleeful giggle. Ramsay never held onto one emotion for too long, and he knew it unnerved people. His father had always been quick to reprimand him for showing it, but now that he was gone, Ramsay didn’t see the point in hiding it. He had conquered the fucking North! Who could judge him now? Only the highborn men he needed to escort their sister into his clutches, he supposed. This little Mormont was probably too young to provide him with sons, but still, it might be worth a try.

“Have you had your moonblood yet, Lyanna?” He said, with a gleam of curiosity, “I’m in the market for a new bride, you see. The old one turned out not to be as... _durable_ as promised.”

Her lips moved together mulishly, in an effort to stay any ill-favoured words, before she lost the battle to suppress herself. She found a way around his warning, like the smart thing she was. The tiny Lady of Bear Island reared back her head and spat on the floor in his direction, making clear her thoughts on Ramsay's offer of marriage.

“Shame,” Ramsay sighed theatrically, “You’d make a splendid Lady of Winterfell. All that fire! Think of how well you could command the household, inspire the troops! No doubt our children would be vicious warriors, and daughters full of Northern spirit, just like you. But no matter. Waiting for you to flower would take longer than I care to. And I’ve no doubt you’d try to murder me in my sleep, wouldn’t you, little one?”

As he spoke, Ramsay advanced upon her, until he stood a pace away, and with his final words, he cupped her cheek with his empty hand. She jerked her head away, but her chains in the hands of his men did not allow her to go far. Ramsay stroked her cheek with his thumb and smiled handsomely, his neat, small teeth lining up perfectly.

“Glorious,” Ramsay murmured, as she changed tactic and attempted to bite him with her small, sharp teeth.

He was too quick for her to succeed. Without letting his falsely charming smile slip for even a moment, Ramsay yanked his hand away, reared back and snapped it back out, backhanding her across the jaw just like a snake rearing back and striking. She fell like a brick wall successfully lobbed by catapult, landing heavily on the bare flagstones. Crumpled, like clothing casually tossed aside when the wearer stripped clear of it.

The other prisoners visibly reacted, reaching for Lady Mormont and calling her name in soft concern. But they still cowered from his attention, as Ramsay’s eyes skimmed over them, gleaming cheerfully. He was in a far better mood now. New possibilities were revealing themselves ever so tantalisingly, like a good tavern wench.

“Ah,” came an unexpected yet familiar oily voice, “I see you’re busy securing the goods.”

Ramsay stood rigidly still, turning only his head to take in the appearance of Petyr Baelish, flanked by knights of the Vale. Baelish thought him a true dullard, that much was now abundantly clear. He truly believed that Ramsay would be too dense to understand what his unexpected arrival meant? Baelish was truly daring to enter Winterfell after so obviously riding North to join Jon Snow’s army on behalf of Ramsay’s wife, rather than retreating to the safety of the Vale? Ramsay’s lips twisted into the tiniest of smirks before he carefully affected a look of bland mild surprise. Oh, this was going to be ever so much fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment, you have no idea how encouraging it is!!
> 
> × × telling you right now: both Cersei and Daenerys lose × Daenerys Targaryen dies before ever becoming Queen on the Iron Throne just like in canon × Ramsay Bolton is a Lyanna Mormont fanboy and is a bit of a creep but not Baelish levels of creep × Theon Greyjoy gets a nice OC boyfriend in Essos and never has to deal with Ramsay's shit again × ×


End file.
